


Pictures of You

by scatterglory



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory/pseuds/scatterglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>i've been looking so long at these pictures of you <br/>that i almost believe that they're real <br/>i've been living so long with my pictures of you <br/>that i almost believe that the pictures<br/>are all i can feel</i></p><p>Originally posted on kinkme_merlin <a href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/17437.html?thread=16334621#t16334621"> here. </a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_i've been looking so long at these pictures of you  
that i almost believe that they're real   
i've been living so long with my pictures of you   
that i almost believe that the pictures  
are all i can feel_

 

The photograph is faded and creased, dog-eared and battered and marred with fingerprints. There are small tears along the sides, and three of the four corners are gone completely. Tiny spiderweb cracks traverse the once-glossy finish, the colors a pale echo of their former brilliance.

Arthur holds the fragile paper gently, cradling it in his palm, his memory supplying the details that time has clouded. The present falls away, and he's there again in the past, the day the picture was taken. He remembers the exact moment, breathless and joyful and so, so very perfect. His breath hitches in his throat, and his vision blurs as the image seems to move.

********************

 _The camera was a birthday present his junior year of college, overnighted with an impersonal card hastily signed by a distracted father. He fought back disappointment—he'd stopped wanting to be a photographer when he was ten years old—and reluctantly showed the camera to Merlin when he burst into Arthur's dorm room, knocking him back onto the bed and showering him with kisses before demanding to know what his father had sent him._

 _Merlin stole the camera, of course, wasting almost the entire roll immediately and nearly blinding Arthur with the damn flash._

 _“You'd better get used to it,” Merlin chuckled. “When you hit it big, the paparazzi will be all_ over _you!”_

 _Arthur growled something in the vain attempt to sound annoyed, as usual, and regained the upper hand via tickling, also as usual. Before Merlin could react, he snapped a shot and finished off the roll. Merlin protested terribly—“You_ know _I hate pictures, my ears always look the size of Texas!” but Arthur invoked Birthday Immunity and prevented him from exposing the film._

********************

Now, stripped of context, removed from time, and frozen in ink and paper forever, Merlin's blue eyes twinkle merrily, looking up coyly from beneath his dark lashes. His cheeks are flushed, offset by a crooked smile, tender and sweet and full of promise …

********************

 _They collapsed onto Arthur's narrow bed and turned on the radio to drown out the sounds of dorm life that swirled around them. Arthur once again thanked his father for insisting that he have a single— “I won't have you rooming with some useless pothead or party animal, Arthur. Boston University's School of Management is rigorous, and I expect you to graduate with highest honors”—and moaned into Merlin's mouth as Merlin fumbled with his zipper._

 _When Merlin sucked him all the way down, he fell back onto the mattress and hazily thought that this was the best birthday ever. Then Merlin stopped, leaving Arthur panting and_ wanting _and still_ so hard, _before crawling up the bed and fucking Arthur down into the mattress until he saw stars._

 _When they finished, Merlin sprawled across his chest, idly tracing the curve of his hip. “Happy birthday,” he murmured, and Arthur pulled him close and kissed him as the sound of “Friday I'm In Love” wound around their naked bodies._

 _Merlin laughed as Arthur sang along quietly, but his laughter caught in his throat when Arthur stared into his eyes. As the song finished, Merlin dipped down, his tongue capturing the words that Arthur could sing but not say._

 _“I love you too,” he breathed into Arthur's mouth._

********************

His breath catches in his throat, a painful, shuddering sound. The empty glass of bourbon at his elbow tempts him to fill its mocking depth with sweet oblivion …

But he has to be sober and ready for dinner in less than two hours—barely enough time to shower and get there if he'd been in DC, and he's been told that New York traffic is even worse. And his father will kill him if he blows this deal, if the investors refuse to support their proposal for a New York-based branch of Camelot Consulting.

His hands are trembling, his eyes burning as he stares dully at the photograph. He shouldn't have brought it. He should have left it buried at the bottom of his sock drawer in DC. He should have used the trip as an excuse to forget … everything.

It should be easy to forget. Everyone else in his life is more than capable of forgetting whatever needs to be forgotten—such as his father, who arranged this trip, conveniently forgetting that today is his birthday.

But he can't forget. He's never been able to.

He can't forget the approaching meeting, or that his father is counting on him. He can't forget that he's thirty years old today. He can't forget the past eight years, or the four before them. He can't forget the photograph.

He can't forget Merlin.

********************


	2. Chapter 2

_remembering you standing quiet in the rain  
as i ran to your heart to be near  
and we kissed as the sky fell in, holding you close  
how i always held close  
in your fear_

 

The hotel's shower sprays him in a gentle stream, tendrils of water tracing paths down his skin until he's soaked and surrounded by steam. The heat of the bathroom, the feel of water on his body, the photograph swimming behind his eyelids when he presses his forehead to the cool tile—his body thrums with the sense-memory of warm, humid air in another city on another evening, almost ten years ago to the day. 

The evening that had heralded the start of those few, precious years when he’d known what it meant to be truly, blissfully happy …

Before he’d lost the only thing that had ever mattered.

********************

 _“Merlin!”_

 _Out of breath, his cry was lost in the weight of the afternoon downpour. It shouldn't have caught either of them by surprise—spring had come early to Boston their sophomore year, and the beginning of May felt like the end of July, warm and humid and heavy with thunderstorms. No one with any sense would have ventured outside without an umbrella, but Merlin had fled Arthur's dorm without anything, not even his jacket. And Arthur had waited exactly three shocked heartbeats before tearing after him._

 _“Merlin!” he called out again, desperate. He burst out of the building, shoving through a crowd of oblivious, soggy freshmen and looking around with wild desperation._

 _He caught Merlin in the middle of Marsh plaza; somehow they'd both made it across Commonwealth Avenue alive, despite the best efforts of the evening rush hour traffic. Merlin stopped when Arthur called out for the third time, and stood hunched in on himself, staring at the ground, flushed and silent with shame._

 _But he'd stopped._

 _Arthur faced him, breathless, heart pounding in his chest in a dangerous, perfect rhythm. The rain beat down on them, warm and intimate and shielding them from the rest of the world._

 _Merlin's mouth twisted, as though he could still hear the broken confession he'd thrown in Arthur's face before fleeing. The words rang in Arthur's ears as well, and he couldn't stop the reverberation, lost in the discord that echoed without resolution._

 _“Merlin—” he whispered over the cacophony, reaching for the words to make it all stop—_

 _But the words died on his tongue._

 _They always did._

 _Merlin glared at him. “What?” he said, shrugging off silence, a new crash of sound over the echoes in Arthur's ears. “Come to rub it in? To laugh at the f-fucking pathetic fag, falling in l-love with his best friend ...” He broke off, voice shaking in a vibrato that tore into Arthur's chest._

 _The moment stretched on, endless silence that hammered in Arthur's ears. Merlin was_ gay. _Merlin was_ in love _with—with—_

 _He couldn’t breathe. This was his cue, this was his entrance—but he missed the first beat, and the second, and it was too late to play it off as syncopation, and he'd never been able to just pick up and improvise if he didn't already know the basic form of the song ..._

 _Merlin's face fell, bitterness washed away by the rain, replaced by pure, quiet hopelessness. “And just like always, you have nothing to say,” he whispered._

 _Arthur gasped as though he'd been stabbed—Merlin knew, he_ knew _how hard it was for Arthur to … to say these things if the words weren't lyrics, to talk like this outside of a song, to express himself without music …_

 _But Merlin was turning away, silent in the face of Arthur's paralysis, and Arthur couldn't—couldn't let him—_

 _With a strangled noise, he reached out and grabbed Merlin's shoulder. Merlin's blue eyes flashed in surprise, and then Arthur was smashing their mouths together, pulling Merlin into him, pushing his tongue past Merlin's lips._

 _And Merlin was wrapping his arms around Arthur's shoulders, gasping into the kiss, pressing the length of his body against Arthur. Arthur trembled against him, adrenaline surging through his limbs like he was singing in front of thousands. He ran his fingers over Merlin's hips like the strings of a guitar, coaxing forth a perfect melody as Merlin moaned into his mouth._

 _Arthur pulled away, gasping for air, hands fisted in Merlin's soaking shirt, eyes scanning Merlin's face desperately, searching for the answer to the question he couldn't ask._

 _And Merlin was smiling at him, hopeful and hesitant and terrified, and running his fingers over Arthur's lips, erasing the words that would not come._

 _“Arthur,” he said softly._

 _Arthur buried his face in Merlin's neck, inhaling until his lungs were filled to bursting, exhaling a soundless aria into Merlin's pale skin. He felt Merlin shudder against him, and flashed on the awful night earlier that year, when he’d first held Merlin in his arms. But Merlin wasn’t crying this time—Arthur’s shirt was wet with rain, not tears._

 _He mouthed the line of Merlin's jaw, promising with lips and teeth and tongue what he’d promised in song that night. Promising that, no matter what, he wouldn't be like everyone else._

 _He would never leave Merlin._

 _Never._

********************


	3. Chapter 3

_remembering you running soft through the night  
you were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow  
and screamed at the make-believe, screamed at the sky  
and you finally found all your courage  
to let it all go_

 

He knots his tie in a full Windsor, uses the diamond cufflinks that his father insisted he buy, and studies himself in the mirror like he would a stranger. The man before him is handsome, of course, but there's something … missing. He thinks it's in the eyes, but maybe it's in the mouth, or the set of the shoulders. Perhaps the man is wearing a costume, cheap and false and three sizes too big. 

He shakes his head, and squares his shoulders, and flashes the smile that's charmed personal and professional partners alike, though it never seems to reach his eyes. “Arthur Pendragon,” he says, introducing himself to his reflection, voice sure and confident. He holds his smile for a moment before it shatters, and he has to leave the bathroom, leave the mirror, before he falls to pieces entirely.

Shaking, he walks to the window, grasping the sounds of the city like a lifeline. He’s never been here before, though the opportunity has presented itself many times …

He remembers how exciting it had seemed, the idea of New York, back when everything was easy and the possibilities before them were endless. He remembers the fear and joy he’d felt when they decided to do it, to risk everything on a dream.

A dream of each other.

********************

 _The midnight snowball fight had rapidly spiraled out of control, with Arthur and Merlin somehow ending up on opposite teams as they slipped and slid across the treacherous expanse of Marsh plaza. The other combatants, mostly juniors like them with a few sophomores and seniors, had begun to wind down and trickle away in search of snacks from the late-night cafe, but Merlin was spinning in circles under the stars, breathless and flushed and laughing as he slipped and fell into a deep drift. Arthur was on him in a second, and they rolled over and over, smearing snow in each other's faces until their cheeks and lips were red and shining._

 _They came to a stop with Arthur on top, pinning Merlin in the snow. Despite the cold, they were both panting and warm, shielded by layers of down and youth and lust. Arthur gazed at Merlin, drops of melted snow caught in his long, dark lashes, and couldn't breathe for the feeling of their bodies pressed together. Merlin's eyes sparkled as he pulled Arthur down into a kiss, deep and wet and hot._

 _“Let's stay like this forever,” he murmured into Arthur's mouth. “Everything else is bullshit. Let's just stay here, in the snow, you and me.”_

 _Arthur's lips quirked in a smile. “Might get cold after a while.”_

 _Merlin made a disgusted noise, and pushed him off. “For such an amazing musician, you can be pretty damned literal,” he said in mock-disapproval as he got up and brushed himself off._

 _“I’m not a musician, I'm a_ businessman, _” Arthur said as he stood, lowering his voice an octave and waggling his eyebrows at Merlin._

 _Merlin snorted. “Not yet, you're not. You still need your Sex, Money & Greed degree. But judging from the turnout at your last recital ....”_

 _Arthur looked away, blushing like he did whenever Merlin referred to SMG, the School of Management, by its grudgingly-admiring nickname, or whenever Merlin mentioned his performances. It wasn't unheard of for someone to double-major in the College of Fine Arts and the School of Management, but according to popular legend, no one had ever done as well in both schools at the same time as Arthur. He'd been accepted to CFA as a vocal performance major, with guitar on the side; the only reason his father had allowed him to seek the dual degree was that Arthur had promised on his life, honor, and soul to be the best student SMG had ever seen._

 _“There's a reason I didn't choose Composition and Theory,” he said, only partially kidding. “There's enough symbolism and metaphor out there already without me adding to it.”_

 _Merlin rolled his eyes, and took Arthur's gloved hand in his own. “Come on, I stole some hot chocolate packets from the dining hall earlier. Let's see if we can't thaw that attitude out a bit.”_

 _Arthur glowered at him, but allowed Merlin to pull him off to Merlin's dorm. Merlin's roommate, a nice but quiet sophomore named Gilli, was already home for winter break, and the double at half-capacity was a lot more comfortable than Arthur's tiny single. By unspoken agreement, both Arthur and Merlin had booked their tickets for the last day that the dorms were open, neither one eager to fly home for the holidays. Arthur would have given almost anything to take Merlin with him, to have three weeks of bliss together. But his father didn't know about them, didn't know about Arthur,_ couldn't _know about Arthur, and Merlin didn't push, never asked. Arthur sidestepped the guilt that rose in him whenever those thoughts crossed his mind, instead stealing kisses from Merlin in the elevator up to his floor. He grimly banished thoughts of rattling around his father's enormous North Virginian townhouse for three weeks with no one but his stepsister Morgana for company, and focused on the tiny noises Merlin made when Arthur nipped at his lip_ just so.

 _From the way Merlin's hands were clenching Arthur's biceps, he guessed that Merlin was repressing similar thoughts about returning to the farmhouse outside of Philly, empty for the past eight years except for Merlin's uncle Gaius. They'd been apart for much longer before, the summer after sophomore year, but then they'd just been starting out, and the precious phone calls and emails were enough to keep them both on the giddy edge of anticipation until junior year. Now, after a semester of sleeping alone so infrequently that he could count the number times on one hand, Arthur couldn't imagine waking up without Merlin next to him, stealing the covers and wrapping his arm around Arthur's waist in sleepy possession._

 _In Merlin's room, Arthur lounged on Merlin's bed as Merlin heated milk and added the instant cocoa power, even producing a handful of mini marshmallows and bestowing the mug on Arthur with a theatrical flourish._

 _“Practicing for a hospitality career already, hmm?” Arthur teased as he blew on the steaming mug._

 _Merlin flopped down next to him, somehow managing not to spill his own hot chocolate. “Got an 'A' in Fundamentals of Food Service Management,” he smirked._

 _“I don't even know what that_ means _,” Arthur said, grinning around his marshmallows._

 _“It means that my bar in New York will have a fabulous menu, perfect layout, and exquisitely designed interior,” Merlin replied archly. The he glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. “Still need some help with the music, though ...”_

 _“Mmm.” Arthur was warm now, and sleepy, the hot chocolate heating his stomach and Merlin pressed along his side. “Too bad you don't know any musicians.”_

 _“It is, isn't it?”_

 _They sipped in silence, just sitting there, together. When they finished, Merlin collected their empty mugs and set them on his desk, before lying down on his back. Arthur rolled onto his stomach, resting his head on Merlin's shoulder and wrapping his arm around Merlin's narrow waist. He breathed in the smell of Merlin and shut his eyes, lost in the rhythm of breaths and heartbeats, trying to store up the sounds against the loneliness of the upcoming weeks. Merlin ran his hand through Arthur's hair absently, a slow counterpoint to the quickening of his heartbeat._

 _“Arthur,” he began hesitantly._

 _Merlin's voice rumbled in his chest, emerging like an overtone from his mouth. It took Arthur a moment to realize he should respond._

 _“Mmm?”_

 _“I'm serious, you know.”_

 _“'Bout what?”_

 _Merlin took a deep breath. “About the bar.”_

 _Arthur shifted and ran his hand across Merlin's stomach. “I know.”_

 _“If I use the rest of the settlement from Mom's accident—” his breath hitched and Arthur squeezed him in wordless reassurance, “I can cover a year's worth of rent for something in Manhattan. It's a huge risk, I know, and it'll have to be small, but it's … I have to do it. I have to try.”_

 _Arthur didn't say anything, just stroked his hand across Merlin's stomach, fingers slipping under his shirt and brushing gently across the skin just above his waistband._

 _Merlin sighed. “I think Mom would like it. She always wanted to be a chef, you know? But she inherited the farm, and Gaius was away at medical school, and she just … stayed.”_

 _Arthur pressed a kiss to Merlin's neck. “That won't be you.”_

 _Merlin's hand went still in his hair, cupping the back of his head, holding him. “I know.”_

 _They were quiet for a moment, Arthur's hand exploring underneath Merlin's shirt, touching just because he could. Then Merlin spoke again._

 _“Plus, if I live in Manhattan, I won't need a car.” He said it lightly, but Arthur heard the pain in his voice. He raised his head, and looked Merlin in the eye._

 _“You going to be okay?”_

 _Merlin understood what he meant, and nodded. “Yeah. It's just—last Christmas, I was still pretty numb, so it all went kind of fast.”_

 _Arthur remembered. For Merlin to lose someone—his mother—in a car accident eight years ago had been hard enough, but when it had happened again at the beginning of their sophomore year … Arthur had been worried about Merlin that winter break too, but as Merlin said, he’d still been mostly in shock. And he hadn’t even been Arthur’s to worry about at that point. Now, however, Arthur’s brow creased in a small frown, and he looked up into Merlin’s eyes._

 _“Call me. Whenever you need to.”_

 _Merlin caught his chin, and tilted his mouth up for a kiss. “I will.” He pulled back, still cupping Arthur's chin, and ran his thumb over Arthur's cheek. “Come with me,” he whispered._

 _Arthur turned his head and pressed a kiss into Merlin's palm. “Can't. Dad might not care, but Morgana would kill me if I missed Christmas.”_

 _“That's not what I meant.” Merlin's voice was so quiet that Arthur could barely hear him. “Come with me to New York.”_

 _Arthur froze, heart pounding, lips still pressed against Merlin's skin. “What?”_

 _Merlin shifted nervously. “Don't freak out._ Please _don't freak out. I just—I just meant—you could do music there, and I could run my bar, and you_ hate _business and management so much …”_

 _He trailed off unhappily. Arthur felt as though a hand was squeezing his heart. It was crazy—how could Merlin even_ consider _asking him to … ? He turned back to Merlin, to tell him there was no way in hell, that his father already had a place for him in Camelot Consulting, that his future was a world of contracts and negotiations and profits, that music would never—_

 _“Okay,” he said._

 _“Okay?” Merlin sounded as surprised as Arthur felt. He opened his mouth to take it back, but something wild and joyful rose inside of him, and the words twisted as they left his mouth—“Okay. I'll do it. I'll go with you.”_

 _“Really?” The hope in Merlin's voice sent shivers down Arthur's spine, and he felt himself starting to grow hard._

 _“Really,” he half-growled, banishing the panic that threatened to rise at the thought of his father, shoving everything else_ down _and_ away _before raising himself up and claiming Merlin's mouth in a deep kiss. Merlin arched up against him, hands flying to Arthur's hips and pressing their bodies together. But as distracting as that was, Arthur's thoughts were still on their conversation, and he made a thoughtful noise._

 _“What?” Merlin asked, voice thick and sweet like honey._

 _“Just … about the music. You could have a weekly open-mike. And get local groups. Make it part of the community.”_

 _“Yeah?”_

 _“Mmm-hmm.” He dipped down and kissed the corner of Merlin's mouth. “And karaoke. Everyone loves karaoke.”_

 _Merlin laughed. “Only if you promise to sing for me even after you're ridiculously famous and rich … er.”_

 _“Always.”_

 _Merlin sighed happily. “That settles the music, then. Now all it needs is a name.”_

 _“You should name it something ambiguous,” Arthur mumbled into his neck. “Intriguing. Make people curious.”_

 _“Yeah?” Merlin asked, running his hands up and down Arthur's back. “Got any ideas?”_

 _“Mmm … I was thinking, 'Fascination Street,' or something.”_

 _Merlin laughed softly into his hair. “You really should think about getting some help for your unhealthy obsession with The Cure.”_

 _Arthur nipped at his neck, grinning as Merlin gasped in response. “No use. Can't be treated.”_

 _Merlin looked down at him, eyes twinkling in a way that told Arthur he was going to regret whatever happened next._

 _“Are you telling me,” Merlin began slowly, “that's it's … in-_ Cure _-able?”_

 _The subsequent tickle fight lasted until they were both laughing too hard to breathe._

 _Then they were both panting too hard to breathe._

 _Then breathing was all they could do._

********************


	4. Chapter 4

_remembering you falling into my arms  
crying for the death of your heart  
you were stone white so delicate lost in the cold  
you were always so lost  
in the dark_

 

He waits in the hotel lobby for the car his dining companions are sending for him. His suit, immaculately altered by the best tailor in DC, still feels like an ill-fitting costume. His  _skin_  feels like a costume. He rolls his shoulders restlessly as the late afternoon sun shines warmly through the huge glass windows.

He blames the photograph, and his own weakness. He shouldn’t have used the excuse of his birthday to allow himself to get like this. He should have been preparing for the dinner, for the knife’s-edge dance of negotiating outside of a negotiation. Instead, the present is clouded, blurry, and the past swims in front of his vision like a mirage—an unreachable, shimmering respite from the desert of his life.

Would it have been better if they’d never met, if they'd never become friends at all? Arthur used to think not, that the pleasure of the memories would outlast the pain. But it’s been so long, and the pain hasn’t faded, only grown sharper and omnipresent, a barrier between him and his life. He remembers the night everything became real—something he couldn't ignore, couldn't deny any longer. If he’d known then how he’d feel today, would he still have answered the door that night?

He wishes the answer were ‘no.’ Maybe then he could be angry, instead of broken.

********************

 _The first time Arthur saw Merlin sophomore year, just after summer vacation had ended and fall classes had started, was when Merlin showed up at his dorm room at three in the morning, wearing only his boxers and a thin sleep shirt. Woken from a deep sleep by the pounding on his door, Arthur’s first instinct was to stare. His second was to pinch himself—he’d had this dream before, but they were usually both naked. His third was to use offense as the best defense and to snap—_ I have class at nine, what the hell, man? _—but then Merlin staggered forward, and Arthur caught him automatically. The thin material of Merlin’s shirt did nothing to conceal the tremors that shook his skinny frame as he collapsed into Arthur’s arms, and Arthur felt a rush of something hot in his stomach as they fell backwards, landing in a sprawl on his bed. Panicking, he struggled to sit up, to push Merlin away, but Merlin was shaking so violently that Arthur had no choice but to pull him to his chest. Merlin clung to him like he was the only solid thing in the world, silent sobs wracking his body as his tears soaked Arthur’s shirt._

 _Arthur felt the heat in his stomach spread as Merlin’s gasping mouth brushed across his neck; his hands clenched Merlin’s shoulders reflexively, but Merlin didn’t seem to notice. He only pressed closer, one of his legs slipping between Arthur’s as he left no space between them._

 _Arthur lost the ability to breathe. “Merlin—“ he choked out. “Wh-what—?”_

 _“Will, Will, oh god, Arthur, it’s_ Will _—“ Merlin sobbed, his breath hot on Arthur’s neck._

 _“Will?” Arthur asked hazily, recalling the annoying friend that had come to visit Merlin right at the end of freshman year. They’d hated each other instantly, with Will making it clear in no uncertain terms that_ he _was Merlin’s best friend, thank you very much, and no stuck-up rich kid had better try to horn in on his turf._

 _Which Arthur thought was pretty ridiculous—Will and Merlin had grown up together, and he and Merlin had really only started hanging out a couple months before Will had come. They hadn’t even had any classes together—it was coincidence that they’d met at all, when Merlin’s study buddy Gwen had started dating Arthur’s business school teammate Lance. They’d hung out in groups, mostly, before finding themselves spending most of their free time together just … because._

 _But they’d barely even emailed each other over the summer, so Will obviously had nothing to worry about. Plus Merlin talked about him all the time … not that Arthur cared, because that would be stupid._

 _And it really didn’t matter that Arthur found himself thinking about Merlin more than any other friend he’d ever had, or that he’d woken up more than once from dreams of heat and skin and laughing blue eyes. It didn’t matter because Merlin was straight, so even though Arthur’s father was hundreds of miles away (and really, wasn’t that the whole point of going to school out-of-state?), it’s not like Arthur was going risk their friendship just because he’d never had a boyfriend. It was just a stupid crush—he’d make do with his dreams, and wait for it to_ go away. __

 _But none of his dreams had been like this. None of them had been so vivid, so real—the heat and weight of Merlin stretched out on top of him, the feel of Merlin’s skin where his shirt had ridden up on his back, the sound of Merlin gasping in his ear, saying something about a car crash and a drunk driver and dead before the ambulance—_

 _“Wait, what?” Arthur was wrenched back to reality._

 _“H-he wasn’t even the one_ driving, _Will would_ never _drive drunk, it w-was the other car and he didn’t even s-see it_ coming _and he’s gone—Arthur, he’s_ gone _—“ Merlin was sobbing brokenly into his shoulder, and Arthur felt a wave of disgust at himself even as he rubbed circles across Merlin’s back and whispered into his hair._

 _He was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Merlin_ trusted _him, had come to him with this, and all he could think about was finally,_ finally _having Merlin in his arms …_

 _The shame he felt cleared his head. Pulling Merlin securely against him, he murmured meaningless, soothing words as Merlin shook—blurry snatches from songs that he couldn’t place, but that he couldn’t stop from leaving his lips. He sang quietly, just at the edge of hearing, until his voice was raw and Merlin’s breathing evened out in sleep._

 _Mindless with exhaustion, Arthur kept singing until the song was over, his eyes barely open, his arms wrapped loosely around Merlin’s waist. Face buried in Merlin’s hair, he finished the last line of "Lovesong" just as sleep claimed him._

********************


	5. Chapter 5

_remembering you how you used to be  
slow-drowned, you were angels, so much more than everything  
hold for the last time, then slip away quietly  
open my eyes but i never  
see anything_ 

 

The car is a Lexus, black, shiny and impersonal. The driver tries to make conversation twice, but his rough attempts fall flat and toneless against the hum of the city as it passes by. Arthur feels his chest vibrate with the dull murmur of millions of lives, the city pulsing like a living entity, absorbing and transforming and concealing—individual voices subsumed by the roiling symphony of humanity. 

The sound overwhelms him; he feels stifled, like he can’t draw a full breath. They’re passing by the places Merlin had described with shining eyes—cutting through Central Park and then down through Times Square, and Arthur has the sneaking suspicion that the driver was told to take him on the scenic route. He supposes it was meant as a favor, but the bright lights and new-familiar landmarks are a weight on his chest, a vice gripping his throat.

Did Merlin ever make it to New York? Is he here, now? Does he have a boyfriend, a lover, a family? Does he even remember Arthur at all? He forces himself away from these thoughts, from the shattering pain of imagining Merlin as he should be, laughing and happy in this city of life and light and sound.

They’re moving slowly in the rush hour traffic, and Arthur watches absently as the sidewalks swirl with people, coming and going and living in the city that never sleeps. He can’t follow any one person for more than a moment before he loses them in the crowd, each loss cutting him like a knife. Limp against the leather seats, he feels his isolation like a chain around his throat, choking the life out of him one slow breath at a time. It’s a constant presence in his life now, and has been since the moment when …

… when he’d opened his eyes, and found himself alone.

********************

 _He should have been more upset that his father was missing his graduation, he thought as he pressed Merlin into his mattress, but somehow, it didn’t seem important at the moment. As if reading his thoughts, Merlin moved back enough to free his legs, wrapping them around Arthur’s waist and pulling him forward, grinding them together. Arthur groaned into Merlin’s shoulder, thrusting helplessly against him, mouthing at the graceful swell of Merlin’s collarbone as Merlin shuddered into the touch. Merlin made a whimpering noise, high in the back of his throat, and Arthur was positive that this was much, much more important than graduation._

 _The ceremony should over soon—Gwen had rolled her eyes when they announced that they wouldn’t be attending, but Lance had just promised to text when it was done, so Arthur and Merlin could meet up with Lance and Gwen’s families to celebrate._

 _Abandoning Merlin’s collarbone, Arthur pressed into his mouth, Merlin’s lips parting with a sigh as his hands clutched Arthur’s shoulders._

 _“A-Arthur,” he moaned. “P-please—“ He thrust up against Arthur, spreading his legs and throwing his head back, exposing the long line of his neck. Arthur bit him, just hard enough to hurt, before sucking away the pain as Merlin’s hips rocked against him in a quickening rhythm. Then Arthur pulled away and sat back on his heels, peeling his shirt off over his head and throwing it to the ground._

 _Merlin stared at him with an amazed expression, the same one he wore every time, as though even now he still couldn’t believe that Arthur was_ his. _Arthur leaned forward again, capturing Merlin’s mouth as Merlin’s hand fumbled with the button of his jeans. Then Merlin freed him, wrapping his long fingers around Arthur’s length, and Arthur had to pull away with a muffled curse to keep himself from coming on the spot. He stood up and stepped out of his jeans and boxers, before lying down on top of Merlin again. Merlin’s clothes were rough against his bare skin, and Arthur knew how much Merlin loved this—loved seeing him, naked and exposed and_ wanting _so, so much, too much to wait for Merlin to undress._

 _“Oh—god, Arthur,” Merlin gasped, his hands reaching behind Arthur, spreading Arthur’s cheeks, pressing Arthur’s arousal into the seam of Merlin’s jeans._

 _“Merlin,” he said roughly, mouthing along Merlin’s jaw. “W-want you—fuck—“_

 _“Y-yeah,” Merlin stuttered, and Arthur could never get enough of this—reducing Merlin to stammering, stealing away his ability to speak._

 _He rolled to the side, and Merlin nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to stand, to wriggle out of his own clothes. He was naked by the time Arthur had retrieved the condom and lube, lunging forward onto the bed and smothering Arthur with kisses as Arthur lay on his back. He knelt between Arthur’s thighs, gently spreading his legs apart and pressing the slick tip of one long finger against Arthur’s entrance._

 _Arthur hissed with pleasure as Merlin’s finger slipped inside him, canting his hips, pushing back against Merlin’s hand. Merlin made a strangled noise, and added another finger, and Arthur moaned, his head falling back against the pillow. Merlin kissed the line of his neck as his fingers worked inside Arthur._

 _“That’s it,” he murmured, “open up for me. Can’t wait to be inside you …”_

 _His fingers grazed a place that made Arthur’s entire body sing, and he clenched down instinctively before forcing himself to relax. Merlin made a strained noise—“_ God, _Arthur!”—and pulled out quickly, replacing his fingers with his cock. Arthur exhaled as Merlin pushed into him, gentle yet firm, burying himself completely. Merlin pressed his face into Arthur’s neck and rocked into him slowly, tiny thrusts pushing Arthur deeper into the mattress._

 _Arthur drew a shaky breath, trying to calm himself, to make this last. Merlin’s breath whispered across his neck, shaky and uneven, and Arthur turned his head, nuzzling Merlin’s cheek. Merlin kissed him, wet and sloppy and desperate, finally beginning to move in earnest. Arthur clung to him, gasping, as the feel of Merlin inside him drove all other thoughts away, and he lost himself in the rhythm of flesh, and desire, and love._

 _When they finished, Merlin collapsed onto his chest, still pulsing weakly inside him, and Arthur wrapped him in his arms. They didn’t move until Arthur’s phone beeped with a text; Merlin pulled away reluctantly, and Arthur groped around on the top of his desk without bothering to get up._

 _“It’s from Lance,” he said as Merlin settled down beside him. “They’re going to the North End for Italian.”_

 _“Good for them,” Merlin murmured, wrapping his arm around Arthur’s waist and pressing against him. “Don’t think I can move.”_

 _Arthur kissed the top of his head. “Me too. I’ll tell Lance.”_

 _It didn’t take him long to reply—_ ded of sex, hi to fam _—and he dropped his phone off the side of the bed._

 _Merlin sighed into his chest. “I can’t believe we made it,” he said softly. “Felt like I’d be a student forever.”_

 _Arthur combed his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “Yeah.”_

 _He felt Merlin’s lips curve into a smile. “And in a week, we’ll be in New York. Uncle Gaius said he’ll drive all my stuff in—“_

 _Arthur’s hand stilled in Merlin’s hair as a cold wave of reality crashed down around him. His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed and licked his lips. “Merlin—“_

 _“—and Gwen’s brother said we’re welcome to crash with him till we find a place, so we can take our time looking—“_

 _“Merlin.”_

 _Merlin paused. “Yeah?”_

 _“I—“ His throat closed, and he fought down a wave of panic. “I can’t.”_

 _He felt Merlin’s entire body go rigid. “What?”_

 _Arthur closed his eyes. “I can’t go to New York with you,” he choked out._

 _“W-why?” The pain and confusion in Merlin’s voice made his heart ache._

 _“My father. The company. I can’t just—I can’t,” he said weakly, praying that Merlin would understand._

 _“Oh.” Merlin’s voice was barely a whisper. “And … you didn’t tell me before, because … ?”_

 _Arthur couldn’t reply. He made a pained noise as Merlin pulled away, off the bed, and groped around for his clothes. “Wait—“_

 _“I … need some air.” Merlin’s voice sounded strangled, strange._

 _Arthur bit his lip—I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you, I love you—and ducked his head, his hair falling in his eyes. “Okay,” he said quietly._

 _Merlin nodded once, jerkily, and headed to the door without another word._

 _Arthur sank back into his pillow as the door closed with a click, cursing himself. He should have told Merlin before—he should have explained that the job with his father would pay enough for Arthur to visit all the time, how he planned to fly up every weekend and help Merlin find a place, remodel it, tend the bar, play for him—anything to be with him, to make this work. How his father was talking about opening an office in New York someday, or failing that, how with a few years of experience at Camelot Consulting under his belt, he’d be able to work anywhere._

 _He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. He’d really fucked this up. As soon as Merlin got back, no matter what time, he’d sit him down and actually find the damn words for once in his life. Merlin was upset, but he had to know how much Arthur loved him, that Arthur would rather die than lose him._

 _He felt himself starting to drift off, end-of-the-semester exhaustion and post-coital fatigue overcoming him at last. Before falling asleep, he scooted until his back was against the wall, to leave room for Merlin when he returned._

********************

 _Arthur slept through the night. When he woke the next morning, he reached across the bed automatically._

 _But the other side of the bed was cold._

 _Merlin hadn’t come back._

********************


	6. Chapter 6

_if only i'd thought of the right words  
i could have held on to your heart  
if only i'd known of the right words  
i wouldn't be breaking apart  
all my pictures of you _

 

They have to be close to the restaurant. The investors never told him the name—they probably told his father, but Uther rarely deigns to concern himself with trivialities like telling Arthur about the environment in which he’s expected to perform. Arthur never knows if his father is actually too busy to bother with details like that, or if he simply prefers to keep Arthur on his toes, never knowing what to expect. He suspects the latter.

His father is always testing him, challenging him more than anyone else at the company. Arthur’s friend and coworker Leon says he should feel honored that Uther wants to push him to be his best, but Arthur knows it’s no honor. There’s no trust, no respect in his father’s demands, unachievable standards, and mind games. Uther’s not trying to bring out the best in his son—he’s trying to bring out the worst. He’s always alert for any sign of weakness, of deficiency, in Arthur’s performance. Arthur’s a master of appearances, but he lives with the constant knowledge that someday Uther will see through everything, see that underneath the charisma, intelligence and success, Arthur’s still just like he was those first awful weeks back in DC after graduation. He sees the memory in his father’s eyes every time Uther looks at him, the disgust that Uther feels poorly concealed behind the mask of business that’s replaced his real face, even with Arthur. Because Uther detests weakness, and he’s never forgiven Arthur for falling to pieces over something as trivial as a broken heart.

********************

 _Arthur felt guilt rise in his stomach, cold and sharp, as he got out of bed. If Merlin had spent the night in his own room, he must have been even more upset than Arthur thought. Without hesitation, Arthur threw on his clothes from the day before and headed over to Merlin’s dorm. The sooner he apologized and explained, the sooner they’d be able to focus on their future._

 _Merlin’s building was a couple blocks away, and Arthur hummed to himself as he walked to keep himself calm. “You, just like heaven,” he sang quietly as he swiped his student id card to get into the dorm. Merlin’s door was unlocked—and really, he should know better, theft was the biggest crime on campus—but Arthur knocked anyway._

 _“Come in,” Gilli answered—Merlin was probably still asleep. Arthur entered the room—_

 _And stared. Merlin’s half of the room was completely bare. Gone were the piles of clothing, books and papers; the walls had been stripped of posters, pictures and signs._

 _Gilli looked at him curiously. “What’s up?”_

 _“Wh-where—?” His chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe._

 _Gilli glanced at the mattress, lying naked and forlorn on the metal bed frame, and shrugged. “Said he had to get home, something came up. He caught the 10pm Amtrak last night.”_

 _Arthur stood, frozen in the doorway, unable to comprehend what Gilli was saying. Gilli looked at him with concern. “Hey man, everything okay?”_

 _Without a word, Arthur turned and fled from the room._

 __

********************

 _Merlin’s phone went to voicemail the first time Arthur called. He hung up without leaving a message, and called back immediately. It went to voicemail again. He hung up._

 _Call. Voicemail. Hang up._

 _He repeated the pattern for half an hour, not caring how pathetic thirty missed calls would make him look. He tried to leave a message on his sixth call, but nothing came out. His world narrowed to dialing, listening to ringing on the other end of the line, and hanging up to_ “Hi, you’ve reached Merlin Emrys. I can’t answer the phone right now, but leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” __

 _He would have kept going, but a text from Gwen broke him out of the mindless repetition._

 __missed u guys last nite. hope u gave merlin a good sendoff! XD __

 _Fingers shaking, he called her instead._

 _“Gwen?”_

 _“Hey Arthur, what’s up?”_

 _Arthur took a deep breath. “Did Merlin get a chance to say bye to you and Lance?” he asked as calmly as he could._

 _“He texted me this morning, said he’d decided to leave a little earlier than he’d originally planned. Why?”_

 _“No reason. I gotta go.”_

 _“Bye Arth—“ He hung up before she could finish._

 _Then he sat down on his bed, and put his face in his hands, and shook._

 __

********************

 _He called every half-hour on the dot for the next eight hours. His flight was at 10am the next morning, but he couldn’t focus long enough to pack. That night, he spent an hour agonizing over an email before sending it to both Merlin’s school and personal accounts. He got a bounceback from Merlin’s school account immediately, which was nothing new—their mailbox capacity was pathetic, and Merlin never bothered to delete anything._

 _Then, moments later, his email to Merlin’s personal account was returned. Arthur stared blankly at the bounceback message—_ Delivery to the following recipient failed permanently: no such address. __

 _No. Merlin wouldn’t have changed his email address just because—_

 _With shaking fingers, he dialed Gwen._

 _“Hey, Ar—“_

 _“Have you talked to Merlin today?”_

 _“What? No, not since he texted me this morning. Why?”_

 _“Can you—“ Arthur swallowed, forcing himself to ask, “Can you call him? Don’t tell him I told you to. Just—just let me know if he answers, okay?”_

 _“O-kay,” Gwen said slowly. “Arthur, what’s going on?”_

 _Arthur clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to snap. “Don’t ask me that. Please. Just—just call him. And then call me.”_

 _Gwen made a displeased noise. “Fine. But I’d better get an explanation at some point.”_

 _“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” He hung up without saying goodbye._

 _He didn’t have long to wait. His phone rang almost immediately, and he nearly dropped it in his haste to answer. “He didn’t pick up?”_

 _Gwen sounded confused, and worried. “No, he didn’t, and I … I must have done something wrong? It said the number was no longer in serv—“_

 _Arthur hung up on her for the third time that day, blindly dialing Merlin’s number from memory._

 _The shrill blare of the alert sound cut through him like a knife—_ We’re sorry, but the number you have called is no longer in service _—and he dropped his phone._

 _This couldn’t be happening. This absolutely could not be happening. Merlin was upset—pissed off, even—but he’d get over it, he’d call Arthur back, or email, or_ something, _and Arthur would apologize and do everything in his power to make it up to him, and they’d be okay._

 _They_ had _to be okay._

 _He sank to the floor, shaking, and stayed there as the sun set and the room went dark._

 __

********************

 _He almost missed his flight the next morning. He’d thrown a random assortment of things into a suitcase and caught a cab to the airport, not caring what he left behind, not caring if he was billed for room cleaning services. He clutched his phone like a lifeline until he had to turn it off on the plane, and turned it on as soon as the plane landed. He was greeted at the airport by a hired car, and taken to his father’s house in a daze. He was silent on the drive, his phone cold and still in his hand._

 _Uther wasn’t home when he arrived, and Morgana was off traveling through Europe; he headed straight to his room, not coming out even when his father arrived._

 _Which was his first mistake._

 _“Arthur.” Uther’s tone was cold with displeasure. “Are you ill?”_

 _Arthur closed his eyes. At the sound of his father’s voice, a low, discordant buzzing began to vibrate through his skull. “No.”_

 _He heard Uther shift impatiently. “Then what is the meaning of this … behavior?”_

 _The buzzing grew louder. His stomach churned, and the words that caught in his throat were the only things keeping him from vomiting._

 _“Arthur.” There was a hint of anger._

 _Arthur swallowed, clamping down on his nausea. Somehow, he managed to open his eyes, and met his father’s steely gaze. He took a deep breath, and made his second mistake._

 _“I just … lost someone.”_

 _Uther stared at him for a moment, confused and impatient, before Arthur’s word sank in. “_ Lost _someone?” he asked, his lip curling into a sneer. “In what sense? Did she_ die _?”_

 _Arthur closed his eyes again, knowing that his father was seeing his mother’s face, that he was comparing Arthur’s pain to the reality Uther himself had lived for the past twenty years. “No—“_

 _“Then I fail to see the problem.” Uther’s tone was no longer mocking, ice over steel. “Surely you knew that any minor romance you got into at school would be abandoned when you returned here for work.”_

 _”Come with me to New York.”_

 _“Okay.”_

 _Arthur turned towards the wall, hiding from his father’s impassive regard as the tears burning in his eyes began to escape._

 _“Arthur.”_

 _Not even the unfiltered disgust in Uther’s voice was enough to move him. Nothing mattered—he couldn’t comprehend anything except the emptiness inside him._

 _“I don’t care what degree of …_ puppy love _… you’ve got yourself into. You will pull yourself together_ at once _. This pathetic display is completely unbecoming of a Pendragon.”_

 _Words swirled inside his head, surfing the buzzing waves that continued to assault him._ Fuck being a Pendragon. Fuck everything. I love him. I’m gay. Fuck you. Would you have  _ever_ said that about Mom? 

Fuck you. I love him.

 _But Uther was finished with the conversation. “I’m leaving for a month. Business.” Arthur heard him walk to the door. “When I return, I expect you to be ready to assume your duties at Camelot. You will begin work the day after I return. Do not embarrass yourself any further.”_

 _Then he was gone, and Arthur was alone._

 __

********************

 _He had no idea how long he’d been in bed, staring blankly at the wall as the day progressed and night fell. His phone lay next to him, mocking him with its silence. Each breath was almost more than he could bear, and the burning in his eyes had long since turned into the slow glide of tears down his cheeks._

 _He must have dozed off at some point—when he opened his eyes after what had seemed like only moments, the thin rays of dawn were slanting in through his window. He closed his eyes again, trying for the oblivion of sleep, but reality intruded. Somehow, he made it out of bed and to the bathroom, the physical needs of his body just managing to outweigh the paralyzing pain of his heart._

 _Eyes still mostly shut as he stumbled back towards his bed, he didn’t notice his abandoned suitcase until he’d already tripped over it, sprawling painfully on the floor. With a snarl, he kicked it viciously as he got back up._

 _The zipper broke, and the suitcase popped open. Lying on top of its disorderly contents, wrinkled and unwashed, was Merlin’s BU sweatshirt. Arthur stared at it blankly—he had no memory of grabbing it, didn’t even remember when Merlin had left it in his room. Without thinking, he reached for it, wrapping his fingers in the bright red fabric._

 _Merlin loved his stupid hoodie. He said it was the only piece of school spirit he could actually get behind—“Because it’s so_ fluffy, _Arthur! Feel the fluff!”—and he’d worn it almost every day that winter. Arthur had always teased him for it, wrinkling his nose and just telling him to wash the damn thing already. But Merlin only washed it when absolutely necessary, saying that each time he dried it, it got rougher on the inside …_

 _Arthur buried his face in the hoodie. The smell of Merlin invaded his senses, and his knees gave out. Sinking to the ground, the phone on his bed still conspicuous with its lack of new messages, he wrapped himself around Merlin’s scent and sobbed._

 __

********************

 _The next day, Gwen tried to call him five times. Lance texted him twice. Percy and Gwaine, friends from high school, showed up at his doorstep and almost scared the cleaning lady to death with their insistence that he let them in._

 _He didn’t. Wrapped in Merlin’s hoodie like it was armor, he locked the front door after they left and stumbled back to his room. He’d torn apart his suitcase, but found nothing else of Merlin’s—all he had was a handful of pictures, printed at the self-service photo station in the campus convenience store. Merlin always insisted on printing them even though Arthur said it was pointless—everything was on the computer, so why waste the paper?_

 _He ran his fingers over the gloss, tracing the outline of Merlin’s face, the contours of his smile, until he couldn’t breathe. He turned the pictures over and stared at the blank white paper on the back, until he couldn’t bear not to see and flipped them back again._

 _He heard the door shut as the cleaning lady—Sofia was her name, he thought— left, and when he ventured out of his room again due to the demands of his body, she'd left a pint of Haagen-Dazs sitting outside his door. It was Morgana’s favorite kind, no doubt left behind in their freezer. He wondered if he should feel embarrassed at being so obviously distraught. He wondered if she’d tell his father._

 _He found that he couldn’t care at all._

 __

********************

 _The rest of the day passed hazily, the remains of the half-eaten ice cream slowly melting as the sun went down. Arthur lay on his bed, struggling for each breath against the crushing weight of his memories. His stomach roiled, emotions and ice cream swirling in an uneasy ballet, dancing to the lyrics of “There is no If,” the song he'd put on to drive away the silence._

 _“Remember the first time I told you I love you,” he sang along quietly. “It was raining hard, and you never heard.”_

 _The lyrics enveloped him like a blanket, and he wrapped his arms around himself. He could still smell Merlin in the hoodie, and it was almost like Merlin was there, like he'd open his eyes and—_

 _He didn't open his eyes. The song ended, and he was still alone._

 __

********************

 _Nothing helped._

 _The rest of the ice cream in the freezer disappeared over the course of the week. The smell of Merlin began to fade from the fabric of the hoodie; when Arthur realized this, he tore it off with a cry, flinging it away. But he couldn't bear to be without the feel of some small part of Merlin with him for long—balling the hoodie up and pressing the soft fabric into his cheek, he imagined it was Merlin's chest under his hands as he sang along with the latest song that spoke for him._

 _“It was the sweetness of your skin,” he murmured, the words barely managing to escape from the tightness in the throat. “It was the hope of all we might have been, that fills me with the hope to wish  
impossible things.”_

 _But all he'd wished was gone away._

 __

********************

 _As the days passed, he sometimes wondered if he should be angry. Was it fair of Merlin to just disappear like that? He didn't know. He supposed he could call Gwen, she was usually good with those sort of questions. But she'd want him to tell her what happened._

 _He never got around to making the call._

 _And anyway, it became a non-issue at the end of the third week, when he realized that didn't need Gwen to tell him what he already knew._

 _Merlin had left because he wasn't worth it._

 _He'd lied to Merlin, let him think everything was fine. He'd always been terrible with confrontation, at explaining himself, and Merlin had finally realized he deserved better. Arthur wasn't good enough, had never been good enough, and Merlin had wasted more time on him than he could ever have deserved._

 _After this revelation crystallized in his mind, he waited for something to change—for relief to wash over him, for acceptance to set in. He understood, now—surely he could move on._

 _He showered._

 _He ate._

 _He called Gwaine and Percy, and beat them at darts and pool, respectively._

 _He didn't call Gwen. Or Lance._

 _He got a haircut._

 _He bought a new suit._

 _He reviewed the folders his father had left for him in the study._

 _He didn't acknowledge the rock that sat in the pit of his stomach._

 _He greeted his father when he returned._

 _He arrived at the office early on his first day of work._

 _He closed his first deal by the end of the week._

 _He absolutely did not dream of laughing blue eyes, of pale arms holding him close, and of everything he'd lost._

 __

********************

Arthur’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice when they arrive at the restaurant. The driver finally clears his throat, and he gets out without a word. He straightens, pulling his shoulders back and raising his chin, and his eyes fall on the sign over the door:

 _Fascination Street._

Time slows. He’s frozen, alone on the crowded sidewalk, caught in the twilight zone between past and present.

It can’t be. Panic washes over him and his first impulse is to run—far, fast,  _away_ —but before he can move, he hears his name.

“Mr. Pendragon?”

The woman who comes up to him is wearing an expensive skirt suit, and is flanked by a man in equally impressive attire.

The investors.

The meeting.

He can do this.

He  _has_  to do this.

He swallows, and extends his hand with a smile. “Call me Arthur.”

********************

They’re seated immediately, in a beautiful, comfortable circle-booth of dark, carved wood and plush cushions. Their waiter is prompt, personable, and professional; the drinks are strong enough to be worth the price, perfectly mixed and served in chilled glasses. Arthur scans the room but sees no sign of Merlin, and relaxes slightly. It was ridiculous of him to worry—the thought that this place is Merlin’s, that of all the restaurants in Manhattan, they would be at his ... it’s absurd. He hides a smile of relief behind his drink, and engages his dining companions in small talk as they wait for the entrees.

They discuss the weather and sports (Arthur is indifferent to both); family and children (with the ease of much practice, he deflects their inquiries); and how he finds New York (he lies). After an appropriate length of “casual” time, the conversation turns, slowly but inevitably, to the game that Arthur plays so well.

“It really is a pleasure to speak with a businessman like yourself,” the woman—Morgause—says, her flattery blatant but not entirely ineffective. “In these uncertain times, it's rare to find someone with such a clear plan for their future. The fact that you've been committed to Camelot Consulting for … eight years, was it? … is very impressive.”

Arthur makes a noise of demurral, just as the man, Cenred, speaks up. “I suppose it's easier to be loyal when it's your father's company, isn't it?” His tone is pleasant, but his eyes gleam sharply in the dim light of the room.

Arthur feels a surge of adrenaline, keen and sweet, rush through him. This, he knows.

“None of us can control the circumstances we're born into,” he replies smoothly. “I was fortunate to end up where I am. Most people will never be that lucky.” His tone is humble, self-effacing; if Cenred thinks to bait him into a show of pride in his own loyalty, he'll be disappointed. The man has nothing on Uther when it comes to provocation.

Morgause looks amused, aware of the silent eddies swirling around them. “Which makes it especially impressive when someone without your advantages is able to pursue a dream and see it through until it succeeds, wouldn't you agree?”

Arthur nods, the implication of her words clear:  _If you've never had to struggle, why should we trust your ability to handle challenges and setbacks? Why should we risk our money with you?_

Morgause leans back, and gestures expansively. “Take this place, for example. Before _Fascination Street_ moved in here, this prime piece of real estate had actually been condemned for faulty wiring. Then along came a young man with a dream, and within two years, he'd created one of the most popular spots in Midtown.”

Arthur feigns more enthusiasm for her anecdote than he feels. “So he overcame the bad wiring, then?” he asked, keeping his tone politely interested.

“Among other things,” Morgause says with a sharp smile. “He was also an orphan, I believe, and while he did have some startup capital, he essentially came to the city with nothing but the willingness to do whatever it took to realize his dream.”

 _Is your company—are you—willing to do the same?_  Arthur settles back as well. “That's very impressive. I know what it's like to be without a mother, at least—I can't imagine growing up without anyone.” Morgause's eyes widen slightly—she hadn't known about his mother, point for him—and he continues. “My father has always been there for me,” he keeps a straight face thanks to years of practice, “and watching how hard he worked for Camelot is what inspired me to follow in his footsteps.” 

Morgause looks pleased; Cenred looks thoughtful. “It must have been difficult for your father to balance the demands of raising a son by himself with the demands of running a company. I couldn't do it, myself; I'd burn out.”

 _Will you be able to handle the pressure? How much will you sacrifice to succeed?_  Arthur forces a smile. “He's the strongest man I know,” he says truthfully, “and he's worked to build that strength into his company.”

“But strength alone isn't enough, is it?” Morgause asks rhetorically. “To succeed in these times, a company must also be trusted and respected by the public.” She looks around the room again. “I fully believe that the reason this place is so popular is the way that the proprietor treats his customers. Whenever he's here, he goes out of his way to greet people, to get to know his regular customers and to charm the tourists. He has local groups perform here every weekend, and has karaoke once a week—tonight, in fact. He genuinely gives back to his community, and in return, his community has made him a success. And he can't be more than thirty years old.”

“He's truly an inspiration,” Cenred agrees. “Ah! Look, isn't that him? Mr. Emrys!”

Across the bar, a man looks up, and it’s Arthur’s photo smiling over at them … until blue eyes flash with recognition, and the smile vanishes, and Arthur’s out the door and into a cab before he remembers how to breathe.

********************


	7. Chapter 7

_looking so long at these pictures of you  
but i never hold on to your heart  
looking so long for the words to be true  
but always just breaking apart  
my pictures of you_

 

Arthur's gone from barely breathing at all in the cab to nearly hyperventilating by the time he gets back to his room. He’s just blown the biggest deal of his career—he’ll be unemployed and/or disowned within hours, and all he can see is the look of—god, it had been a look of  _horror_ —that had flashed across Merlin’s face when their eyes met. He feels the alcohol and food curdling in his stomach, and only just makes it to the bathroom before emptying himself into the toilet. He clutches the white porcelain bowl, shuddering as his body rejects everything he’s living, everything he’s become. 

He rests his forehead on the cool ceramic tile of the bathroom wall and closes his eyes. His entire body  _hurts_ , trembling inside the confines of his suit, remembering the feel of skin on skin, remembering the touch of long, skilled fingers, remembering the heat of soft, wet lips. With a strangled cry, he rips off his tie and flings it to the ground, staring with loathing at the noose he’s been caught in for the past eight years. His heart pounds in his ears as he gets shakily to his feet. 

He starts to take off his suit, unbuttoning his cufflinks, when he remembers he doesn’t have any casual clothing with him, and he’ll have to be wearing  _something_  when he goes—

Goes.

Goes out.

Goes back.

He freezes at the thought. There’s no way he can … Merlin obviously hadn’t been happy to see him. He’d only make things worse—make Merlin angry, or uncomfortable, embarrass himself for nothing, bring back all the hurt and pain and loss—

His eyes fall on the photograph of Merlin, lying on the bed. He reaches for it automatically, but stops at the last moment, hand jerking back as if from an open flame. 

The picture isn’t real. 

His  _life_  isn’t real.

His ears are ringing. 

No, not ringing. He’s hearing something. He’s hearing … a guitar. Drums. Lyrics. 

The perfect words, bubbling up inside him, exactly what he wants—what he  _needs_ —to say. 

He’s moving to the door before he’s even aware of his decision, a single phrase from Morgause’s story reverberating through his entire body as he runs away from his room and back out into the New York evening.

********************

They have the entire discography of The Cure.

Arthur gets a strange look from the karaoke DJ when he chokes. He points wordlessly to his selection, and the man shrugs and punches in the numbers. Face burning, heart pounding in his chest, Arthur nods his thanks, and hides in the corner as he waits for his turn.

From his place in the shadows, he scans the room for Merlin—he’d managed to slip in and get to the DJ table without seeing or being seen by him, but now it’s vitally important for Merlin to  _be here._

Then Merlin comes out from the kitchen with two waiters, laughing and joking with them as he helps them with their trays. His eyes are crinkling at the corners, and Arthur’s catapulted back—no. He has to be  _here, now._  He can’t afford to fuck this up. 

Not again.

He glances over at the DJ, who catches his eye and gives a small nod. Taking a deep breath, he emerges from the shadows and grabs the microphone, stepping forward onto the small stage as the song’s opening chimes ripple through the air.

The second he begins to sing, Merlin’s head snaps up. He spins sharply, eyes wide with shock as they meet Arthur’s. Arthur’s voice falters, and he almost loses his place in the song—

But the music swells, and the truth of the song washes away everything else. He sings with his eyes locked on Merlin’s, his body leaning forward, his entire being focused on  _this moment._  

Merlin's staring at him, mouth open, unmoving. Arthur closes his eyes, and reaches deep into himself, gathering up everything he felt, everything he  _feels_ and sending it to Merlin on waves of pure sound. 

When the song ends, he opens his eyes.

Merlin is gone.

He drops the microphone and nearly falls to his knees as the rest of the people in the bar give him a standing ovation. He ignores the DJ’s worried shout as he stumbles off the stage, staggering blindly to the exit sign at the back of the bar and out into the alley. He’s reeling in pain as he slumps against the wall, tears of anger, shame, and self-hate burning in his eyes. Of course Merlin left—Merlin is successful and happy now, and he’s nothing but a failed, broken,  _pathetic_  relic from the past. He should never have come back, should never have thought that—

“A-Arthur?” 

His breath catches in his throat. He turns slowly, dimly aware of how wrecked he must look …

Merlin’s standing behind him, his expression a perfect mirror of Arthur’s own. For a moment, all they can do is stare, and Arthur thinks that this is how it will end—this is too much, his heart will actually stop.

Then Merlin makes a strangled, desperate noise and lunges forward, into Arthur’s arms, pressing Arthur back against the building, fisting Arthur’s shirt, smashing their mouths together in a painful, exquisite kiss.

And Arthur’s kissing back, gasping into Merlin’s mouth when his knees buckle. Merlin catches him around the waist and lowers them both to the ground. Leaning against the wall, they wrap around each other until Arthur can’t tell where Merlin ends and he begins, and all that matters is the feeling of Merlin against him, Merlin’s mouth on his, Merlin’s tears falling on his cheek. 

After several long, perfect moments, Arthur’s just beginning to believe that he did it—that this is _actually happening_ —when Merlin pulls away to look at him.

“Arthur.” 

Arthur closes his eyes, shivering at the sound of his name on Merlin’s lips.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.” 

The despair in Merlin’s voice washes over him like ice water. His eyes snap open, fly to Merlin’s left hand—there’s no ring, but that doesn’t mean anything, of _course_ Merlin has to have someone—

“I never should have left you like that.” 

It takes Arthur a moment to comprehend Merlin’s words—then relief washes over him, so intense that he shudders. 

Merlin’s arms tighten around him, and he whispers into Arthur’s hair. “I was so hurt and angry—I thought you didn’t care, and I couldn’t handle it … and then weeks went by, and months, and years, and it still hurt so much …” He trails off. 

“And now you’re here,” Merlin says after a moment, so quietly Arthur can barely hear him. He pulls back again, his eyes filled with the same raw  _need_  that Arthur can feel in his own. 

“Tell me this is—” Merlin gasps. “Tell me you—“ 

Taking a shaky breath, Arthur leans forward and presses his forehead to Merlin’s. He tilts his head so their lips just barely touch, and feels Merlin’s soft exhalation of surprise.

Merlin’s breath is mingling with his own. Merlin’s arms are holding him close. Merlin’s legs are tangled with his. He feels Merlin trembling against him, waiting for him to respond, to make this  _real._  

Arthur closes his eyes. The music rises in him again, and this is it.  _This_  is what his life is meant to be. 

He feels his mouth curve in a small, delirious smile.

Then, his lips still brushing Merlin’s, he takes a deep breath,

and begins to sing.

 

 _there was nothing in the world that i ever wanted more  
than to feel you deep in my heart  
there was nothing in the world that i ever wanted more  
than to never feel the breaking apart  
my pictures of you._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As a little bonus, here are all the The Cure songs on Arthur's unofficial soundtrack, in the order they're mentioned (not counting the title and section intros):
> 
> [“Friday, I'm In Love”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wa2nLEhUcZ0)   
> [“Fascination Street”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FISdkTWPi4g)   
> [“Lovesong”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXCKLJGLENs)   
> [“Just Like Heaven”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RS_ux2H473I)   
> [“There Is No If”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQ7Z_mlwaqs)   
> [“To Wish Impossible Things”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzZ-Mgi1My4)
> 
> And, of course: [“Pictures Of You”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8UR2TFUp8w)


End file.
